Percy
by pixileanin
Summary: Percy Weasley has regrets, but is he ready to come home again?


_A/N:_

 _Written for The Houses Competition, Year Two, Round One._

 _House: Hufflepuff_

 _Year: 5th_

 _Category: Short  
Prompt: Rainstorm_

 _Wordcount: 1236 (Google Docs)_

 _Thank you to_ _justaninnocenthufflepuff and Aya for the beta reading! Also, a big thank you to 1917farmgirl for the inspiration for this piece._

* * *

Percy Weasley stood outside the Burrow in the rain, watching his family through the kitchen window. His mother made tea, while his father paced back and forth, shaking a fist at the air and speaking to someone out of sight from the window frame. Was it a Ministry official? Was it Harry? Ron? His other brothers?

Was it Dumbledore?

The clouds had been dark and foreboding all day long, and now that he found himself away from shelter, the wind picked up, blowing a forgotten bucket across the lawn. Three stone garden gnomes stood watch under the kitchen window, a recent addition after Ginny had read that the likenesses might intimidate the real gnomes away from Mum's vegetables. Percy couldn't determine if it had the desired effect or not.

He'd wanted to come round to see if everyone was still whole and safe. He'd just heard the news from the Minister himself that it was true. All the lies and deception had been on the side that Percy had supported. What must they think of him? It was probably just as bad as what he'd thought of them for the entire year he'd been away.

With all the talk from Harry and his family, all the lies that Percy had thought he was hearing becoming true, he'd immediately feared for his family, thinking that if he was the big bad man himself who had suddenly returned, he would want to silence those that were trying to shed light on his secrets.

His shoulders dropped in relief when he caught sight of Bill and Charlie inside. He still couldn't see who else was there, but when the faces of his family erupted with open laughter, he figured that Fred and George must be around, just out of his line of sight.

That's when the skies opened up.

The rain came down hard, as if a year's supply of quaffles from the the British Quidditch League was being dumped on the Burrow's property. Percy's instinct was to move from out of the open and under some shelter, but his feet weren't moving.

He longed to be with his family, but too many bridges had burned, and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to find his way back. It was the first time in his life that he felt truly lost.

All his life, he'd looked up to his father. He'd admired his big brothers, and as he got older, he looked up to the men in charge of the Ministry of Magic and wished to be someone important who could make a difference. When he finally climbed high enough to find himself as someone people looked up to, he'd felt as if he'd reached the summit of his existence. But when his family began telling him things he didn't want to hear, all he could think about was the possibility that maybe they didn't want him to succeed. He'd shown his family how great he could be… and they refused to raise their eyes and acknowledge him.

He was undeniably certain that if he walked into that room right now, in the middle of the storm, after everything that he'd said and done, they would all be looking down on him.

They'd been right all along, and he was too stubborn… too proud to listen. He was so busy looking up, that the truth had crawled right under his nose and bit him in the arse.

Voldemort was alive.

For an entire year, he'd convinced himself that his family was nutters and that the Ministry was in the right. But after tonight, when he'd seen the ashen face of Cornelius Fudge, speechless and shaking in his private chambers, it finally occurred to him that perhaps the people in charge weren't the people in the right.

Still, even after a year of shunning his own flesh and blood, they loved him. Oh, they'd sling turnip hash at him and call him a backstabber, but they were still his family.

More importantly, he still loved _them_. He didn't want to look up or down on anybody anymore. All he wanted right now was to get back home.

"Won't it stop bloody raining already!" he muttered, shaking the water off his shoulders as it ran in rivulets from his sleeves to the ground.

His complaint was cut short by a sudden flash of lightning and an equally unsettling clap of thunder that sounded as if the sky was being ripped apart right above his head.

The air around him fizzled and popped, and in that instant, all his past regrets came to light. His mother had tried so hard to make him see reason, but he'd slammed the door in her face. The jumper he'd sent back out of spite last Christmas… he was so ashamed. As his tears mixed with the rain, he chided himself on being too old to cry over a silly jumper. But of all his transgressions, the harsh words with his father and basically disowning the lot of them, he missed having something from home. He hadn't told anyone how he'd dreamed of hugging that jumper tightly, using it as a pillow at night because he missed his mother's hugs.

He needed a hug now, but he was too soggy.

Doubts niggled away at his resolve as the water seeped its way under his collar, soaking him through to the skin. What if they didn't want to see him? They looked so happy. Even his mum was smiling through her worry lines. If he showed up today, right after the truth had been revealed… right after the death of one of their remaining friends, what would he ever say to them? Would they even want to see him?

As another clap of thunder shook the trees around him, Percy's sensible side told him to get somewhere warm and dry. Maybe those were remnants of his mother's words, but in any case, he should listen.

Whether it was the death of a cold from standing like a poor sod in the stormy weather, or his soggy, shriveled toes inside his waterlogged boots and hair plastered to his head like a used up mop, he deserved whatever was coming to him. The lot of it.

Shivers came from deep within his bones, while the wind spit on him from all sides. In the distance, large trees shook in an angry rhythm with the gales that sent them swaying.

The storm was only getting worse. Percy couldn't remain where he was without getting himself blown away, or concussed by a stray limb that might break off and hit him in the head. Fred and George would laugh if they found him unconscious out here, chortling about the trees trying to knock sense back into him. It would all be over if he'd just go up to the door and knock.

Yet, he couldn't make his feet budge one step closer to reconciliation. He was so relieved to know that they were all in one piece. But tonight, after his world had been shaken to the core, he just couldn't face them.

Percy took one last look at the crooked house with his family inside. Then checking to make sure that no one had seen him, he spun on his heel and apparated back to his flat, hoping that one day, he could call the Burrow "home" again.


End file.
